My neighbor’s cat is a wind-up action figure of a feline that, I’m convinced, has enjoyed some sort of amphetamines from time to time. He jumps high, cries out frequently, and doesn’t stop moving. He flops down on the floor at your feet as soon as you walk in the house. He rolls, purrs, meows, rolls some more, flops down again and then runs around the house at full speed, leaping to heights greater than 7 feet.
In short, this cat is nuts.
And yet, I love him just as he is. His energy is catching. His enthusiasm for life is infectious. His desire to have your attention is on the verge of annoying but also quite endearing.
There are so many times when I wish I was just like this crazy cat: I want to be like Milo. I want to run, jump and play with reckless abandon. I want to swing from the rafters (he literally swings from rafters). I want to love everyone who walks in my door. I want to find fun around every corner, high or low.
In fact, I think we should all be more like Milo.